Hetalia ll ailateH
by LHPride
Summary: "Fear is a mind killer. Fear is a small death that brings obliteration. Fear is a darkness in every light. Fear is me and I am you. You are afraid of yourself." World meetings are cliche, aren't they? Let's add a twist: an imposter shows up at a meeting. And then two, next ten. As more imposters spawn, the nations must find a way to fix this problem- or face certain doom. [1P & 2P]
1. Hetalia

England.

A nation that shares its land borders with Scotland to the north and Wales to the west. A nation that includes over 100 smaller islands, filled with low hills and vast plains. A nation that has many ancient standing stone monuments and remarkable Roman based architecture.

A place where it once had a famous reputation for excellent cuisine before it went horribly downhill. The place where football **[Soccer]** was born, two-story buses began and a giant Ferris wheel stood. The Queen's country.

A country everyone wanted to be in.

Except for Spain.

Said nation grins frustratingly at the map he held in his hand, attempting to work out the complicated network system of London's streets. All the Spaniard had wanted was to find out where the nearest food market was and buy some groceries to last him the three miserable days he was going to spend here. Though, since London seemed to be constructed as a giant maze, he had gotten lost.

He folds the map, since it clearly did nothing to help and only confused him more, and places it in his jacket's inner pocket. Spain then looks around for a moment before walking up to a stranger standing at a bus stop and asks for directions. After a moments explanation he thanks the man and walks through the streets of London following his direction.

Why hadn't he done that before? Oh yes. It's because most people in this country seem to be too busy to stop and direct a man, lost in a country he did **not** want to be in, to the nearest food market.

Spain smiles in relief at the sight of the market a few feet in front of him. He saunters over to a stand and begins to examine the variety of vegetables, determining which was fit to eat and which wasn't. His eyes gaze over the tomatoes.

_Tomatoes are fruits not vegetables._

But of course Eyebrows would consider them vegetables. Why does that not surprise him? Spain picks out six nice tomatoes and pays the man running the stand before moving on to the next stand.

* * *

><p>Spain struggles to carry the three paper bags that were filled to the brim with food as he finishes paying the baker woman and departs from the market. He patiently waits for the road to clear before jogging across it and retracing the steps he took to get to the food market. The Spaniard readjusts his grip on the bags and turns a corner swiftly, only for someone to ram right into him and knock the bags out of his hands.<p>

"Ah!"

He attempts to catch them but hardly manages to save even one. Spain releases a clearly annoyed hum at the food scattered across the ground. He kneels down, placing the lone bag in his hand beside him, and begins picking up the fruits and vegetables on the sidewalk.

Without looking up he says to the unhelpful stranger, "I would appreciate it if you could help _amigo."_

The stranger is noticeably hesitant to help but does so in the end. Spain places the last tomato in a bag and gathers the three bags, picking them up. After readjusting his grip on them he looks up to face the stranger who knocked them over in the first place. Though the European's features light up in surprise once he sees the man's face.

"A…America?"

Now normally one would not be surprised to find the American in this country, especially since there will be a meeting three days from now, and Spain isn't. Though one would be surprised if they found him in this country with tan skin, matching red hair and eyes, and a new wardrobe.

Spain looks America once over, absorbing his new and strange style.

"Eh…W, what happened to your hair... and eyes?" The Spaniard shakes his head in an attempt to grasp the sense behind the younger nation's dress choice and hair color. "What happened to you?"

America simply stares at Spain, a look of disbelief and bewilderment written on his face. The two countries remain silent, neither taking their questioning gazes off the other until the European decides he's had enough of this silence and demands an explanation.

"Nothing happened to me," America answers finally. "What happened to you and the world is more like it."

"_Que?_" Spain quirks a brow.

"What happened to your long hair? What happened to your eyes? Hell, What happened to the sky?!" The United States stares up at the sky as if it had changed color.

Spain, now fully lost, furrows his brows and steps closer to bring the other's face down and places a hand on his forehead while being careful not to drop the bags again. He moves the hand to the latter's cheek as the American eyes him curiously,

"Uh, what're you doing?"

"Trying to see if you're sick."

"I'm not."

"Are you drunk then?" Spain sets his hand back under the bags.

"No."

"Then what happened to your hair?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, that's why its red right?"

"It's always been that way but you, you cut your hair. Why? I actually thought it was badass."

"I cut my hair centuries ago…"

"Centuries? I saw you, like, two fucking hours ago."

"…Okay you're drunk."

"What the fuck, no I'm not!"

Spain moves behind America and pushes him forward, "Of course not. Just keep on walking and follow me."

The American reluctantly follows and it was a matter of time before the two made it to Spain's hotel room up on the top floor. The Spanish man sets down the grocery bags on top of the kitchen's counter, quickly putting away anything in need of refrigeration, and leads the U.S. to the couch.

"Okay, so, what happened to you?" Spain crosses his arms.

America leans back into the couch, "Nothing. Why, what's wrong with me?"

Spain uncrosses his arms and motions to the Western nation, earning an irked expression from him. "You just gestured to **all** of me."

Spain nods, folding his arms once more. He stood there silently waiting for the American to begin explaining. Finally The U.S. sighs and agrees seeing that the Spaniard had the patience of a saint and the stubbornness of a bull.

Throughout the entire explanation, Spain had no doubt in his mind that America had tried some of Eyebrow's enchanted potions and that it caused him to change on a whole new level. Not only did it change the American's hair and eyes from their original colors to red but also his outfit was completely different. He still had his bomber jacket but it was more worn down and somewhat dirty; he wore dark, torn jeans and a white T-shirt with an old pair of converse.

Not the usual style of the westerner.

Spain thought it to be quite strange because he looks like America but at the same time doesn't; he was America but somehow didn't feel like him.

Something had to have happened for him to end up this way. Though the clarification America was giving wasn't making any sense. By the end of it Spain thought the American would need some serious therapeutic help, especially when he mentions an Arthur character that he had supposedly been separated from.

Spain merely plays along with the story and asks for America's phone in hopes to find out something but when told that he couldn't find it, the Spaniard pulls his own phone out and dials the American's number.

Spain held the phone between his right ear and shoulder as he serves himself a glass of water from a pitcher in the kitchen. Wondering if anyone would answer, he takes a sip from the glass. The call went to voicemail so the European dials again, listening to the dial tone. Finally said dial tone ends and someone answers,

"_Hello?"_

Spain furrows his brows at the voice, setting the cup down, "Hello?"

The person on the other line replies, "_Spain? Hey, what's up, dude? Ya called?"_

Spain froze at the familiar greeting. "…A-america?"

"_Who else would it be, man? Is there a reason you called because I'm sorta in the middle of somethin'?"_

America? How could that be, he's right there in Spain's hotel room! Is this some sort of **really** elaborate joke? How can there be an America on the phone when there is an America right there on the sofa?

Spain glances over to the America now standing by the window eyeing the world outside suspiciously. If he is there then someone else has to be on the phone.

"_Hello? Earth to Spain, you there?"_

"Who is this?" The Spaniards says very low, sounding much more anxious than before.

America must've taken notice for he replies with concern, "_America. I thought we went over this... Dude, you feeling okay? You're not getting amnesia are you?"_

Spain ignores the question and, with uneasiness notable in his voice, responds, "You…you can't be America. That's impossible you're right here... Where are you?"

"_Why is that impossible, err, I'm outside of a coffee shop in Southern England? Spain, man, you're freakin' me out, what happened?"_

Spain eyes the man on his couch and with a sudden chill running down his spine, he says.

"If you're America and you're over there…then, who's in my living room?"

* * *

><p><strong>DUN DUN DUUUUUNNNNN- SHOT Okay hi~! This is the first chapter. The first shorter-than-I-expected chapter of this story :3 Anyhow, thank you for reading! You should totally (POLAND NO.) click that favorite & follow button eh? *nudges* eh? eh? *nudges* Okei I'ma leave you alone now :3 **


	2. Mirrors

**Chapter 2: Mirrors**

Red hair.

Red eyes.

Tan skin.

America? No. He can't be, even if he does look incredibly similar to America. He isn't.

Is he?

Spain can't handle this confusion anymore. He just wants someone to explain to him what the hell is going on and why there was an American coming to see him now and an America sitting right in front of him.

Said nation is seated on the couch observing the Spaniard sitting on the chair in front of him as Spain did the same in return. He also appears to be wanting an explanation but of what? Spain didn't know. He did know that either this is a very well planned-out joke or America had gotten completely wasted and a real-life version of _The Hangover_ had happened.

The Spanish man pours more of the coffee he had made a while ago, into the cups set on the coffee table for the tan American and he.

"So…" This America's cold crimson stare never faltered. "Want to tell me who the hell you are? Because there is no way you're Antonio."

Spain furrows his brows and sets the coffee pot down, "Um, I am Antonio. It's my human name though."

"Human name?" At the mention of 'human name' the American raises a brow. "What do you mean by_ human name_?"

"I mean it's a human name, like a fake name given to us when we have to associate with humans. What else does human name mean? We're countries remember? I'm Spain and you're America… Well, at least I think you're him."

America scoffs, "Right. Countries, yeah okay 'cause that makes sense." He frowns suddenly. "I'm not _America_, that's fucking insane. _My _name's Alfred and _you're _Antonio."

Alfred clarifies some more after receiving a puzzled look from Spain, "Okay, listen to me. **I **am Alfred and _you _are Antonio. We are _not _countries. Now, I don't know what the hell happened but you used to have long, black hair and brown eyes, and you weren't as stupid as you are now."

Spain frowns at the insult, "_¿Sabes qué_**[Know what]**_? _I think it's best if you just sit here and wait for America to get here because you're not making sense. How can I have brown eyes if mine are green?"

"I don't know why don't you tell me?"

The two men fell into a silent staring competition.

This was going absolutely nowhere. Nothing is making any sense and Spain is about to call America once again and find out where the hell he is and why he's taking so damn long. He had called him ten minutes ago and he still wasn't here and this guy swears he isn't America and is instead Alfred, which America is but isn't, and thinks that Spain is Antonio, which he is but also isn't.

All this confusion is making the Spaniard's head ache and his patience is wearing thin. He swears if this American doesn't show up soon he's going to dump boiling coffee on his head.

* * *

><p>After a few more agonizing minutes there was a loud knock on the door followed by a voice.<p>

"_Dude, Spain, open the door! I have to show you someone!"_

Spain stood abruptly from his seat, slightly startled by the voice, and briskly walks to the room's door though he hesitates to open it, fearful of who's on the other side. The Spaniard grasps the gold knob and takes a deep breath before swinging it open. Stunned at the sight of America he remains silently standing there for a moment, not believing that it is the American in front of him until he notices movement from behind the nation. Spain's shock disappears when he takes in the sight of England.

That definitely **isn't **Eyebrows.

Cherry hair, blue eyes and freckles. He wears a pink vest with a white dress shirt underneath, dress pants and a bright blue bow tie adorning said shirt. But the most noticeable distinctive thing this man has was the smile upon his face.

Eyebrows never smiles.

**Ever**.

Especially not at him.

Spain quirks a brow and looks between America and Eyebrows Number 2 multiple times before gesturing to the other Englishman, giving a questioning look to the westerner.

America allows a grin and shrugs. "Surprise? I found you another Eyebrows! Don't worry, you can thank me later~."

Spain presses his lips into a straight line, eyebrows scrunching together sending the American an unamused gaze. He opens his mouth to answer when Alfred calls from behind,

"Hey! Antonio, Spain, whatever the fuck your name is, who's at the door?"

America's face contorts into one of pure confusion at the sound of his voice coming from someone besides himself. Spain turns to see Alfred striding over to him, wearing a frown, clearly ready to make whoever it is at the door go away.

America leans to see past Spain and into the hotel room. His mouth formed a small 'o' at the sight of another him. But it wasn't him. Yet it was.

Spain assumes that it's most likely creating an ache in the westerners head.

"You… There's no way!" America leans forward, his eyes wide. "You're one of those… you know… doople-gingers!"

"I think you mean doppelganger!" Eyebrows Number 2 whispers from behind him.

"Doppelganger!" America instantly corrects himself.

Alfred comes to a sudden hault, merely a few feet away from where the trio stood. His brows furrow, eyes squint and he frowns. Spain could tell that he was trying to process the other him standing by the door. Alfred glances to Spain asking a silent question,

'You see that right?'

The Spaniard nods, confirming that what the red-head sees isn't a figment of his imagination. Alfred's gaze then travels back over to the American gawking at him in awe and slowly steps closer until he stood beside Spain and in front of the blonde. He eyes America, looking him once-over before nudging Spain's side.

Alfred jerks his head toward America, completely unaware of the happier Englishman beside him, and asks, "What is _that_?"

It took America a moment to process the insult.

"Wh—Hey! Bro, what is your malfunction? Get your panties out of a twist and realize that I'm the cooler, more heroic and most certainly copyrighted version of you!"

America pauses to puff out his chest.

"It's totally weird, though, because asides from you I just found Iggy's doppelganger, too!"

Alfred seems unphased by the "insult" but quirks a brow at the mention of an Iggy doppelganger. America then steps aside, bringing the Eyebrows Number 2 into Alfred's vision.

"Alfred!"

The Eyebrows launches forward and throws his arms around the American, surprising him. The two nearly topple over from the force of the embrace though Alfred manages to regain his footing and keep them up. Both Spain and America's eyes widen as they chorus,

"You two know each other?!"

The pair disregards their comment and Alfred attempts prying the cherry-blonde off of him by pushing his face away,

"God fuckin'- would you get off of me!"

Though the Briton ignores him and instead cries happily, "I'm so glad I found you~!"

Alfred's frown deepens and he huffs, giving up the struggle to resist and simply allows his arms to drop to his sides. The Briton buries his face in the American's chest causing him to scowl and raise a hand to awkwardly pat the Englishman's back.

Exchanging a glance, Spain and America stare at each other in an disbelieved state. Spain's gaze returns to the odd pair and Alfred speaks, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance,

"Okay, that's enough, you can let go now."

Arthur's grip tightens slightly before he complies, stepping back and smiling ear to ear.

"Goodness gracious, Alfred! I was so worried when we got separated, I don't believe you have any idea of what I went through! I'm so glad you aren't hurt. You aren't hurt, right? Do you need any help—"

Alfred's insidious glare brought Arthur's ramblings to a halt. The Briton clears his throat and fumbles for his brightly-hued bow, adjusting it clumsily.

"Really, Artie, it doesn't take a genius to realize that I'm not injured." Alfred rolls his eyes. "Do I look hurt to you?"

"Uhh, err… no." Arthur flashes a small smile, hurt glistening behind his eyes. Bowing his head just slightly. "You're right. S-Sorry…"

Alfred now adopts a look of concern. "W-Wait, no… Fuck, I didn't mean it like that, Artie—Please don't start with the waterworks, I… I'm fine. See? What about you? Are you okay, Arthur?"

"A-Ahh…" Arthur nods with a slightly more genuine smile. "Yes, I'm fine as well."

Alfred perks an eyebrow as he sweeps his gaze over the other. "Are you sure? Your clothes are all scuffed up 'n stuff."

"Oh, this? No no, it's nothing! It was actually because of this young man, well, not because of him, but he helped in keeping me from getting hurt, and—" Arthur turned to face America with sudden interest. "I'm sorry, I forgot your name! Could you please…?"

"What? Oh! Yeah, I'm America!" America flashes a lopsided smile and nods once at the cue he was offered. "I was the hero earlier and, if I do say so myself, it was pretty epic. But, Arthur, I think you have some introducing of your own to do." The blonde nods towards the red-eyed brunette. "Who's this, bro?"

"I'm not your bro." Alfred snaps, crossing his arms.

_Arthur? Isn't that Eyebrows's human name?_ Spain folds his arms in thought and stares curiously at Briton.

Eyebrows (or Arthur as Spain just discovered) half-heartedly slaps Alfred's arm, "Don't be rude." He returns to smile at America, "This is my good friend Alfred! Alfred, this is the man who saved me, America!"

The brunette blinks, attempting to understand that his look alike was named America. "America? What the fuck?"

This is so strange Spain thought. First he finds Alfred, who is highly similar to America and now there's an Arthur who is highly similar to the Black Sheep of Europe. This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder, what next? Another Spain?!

Is that why Alfred described him with different features? Well, it does explain it. But, if he, America and Eyebrows have look-a-likes then, exactly how many of them are there?! Does every nation have a doppelganger? Spain wonders if they have the same abilities as the nations when it comes to the long life, if they do then how is that they've never met? They would've at least met once.

This is singlehandedly the _most_ weirdest thing that's ever happened that the Spaniard is having a very difficult time trying to wrap his head around it.

"Spain!"

Said nation blinks and shakes his head, "_¿Ah, que? Lo siento_, I was thinking."

Alfred frowns for the umpteenth time today, "Is this the dude you've been comparing me to?" He points a finger to America.

Spain nods, "_Si_, I thought you were him. But as it turns out... you're not. Which is weird."

"Well, you should really stop comparing us; I'm nothing like this fuckface." America raises a brow to Spain.

Arthur slaps Alfred's arm again but much harder this time around earning a pained cry from him, "Stop it with that language! How many times have you cursed since we've been here?!"

"U-Uhh," Alfred withdraws slightly into his jacket. "Shit…"

Spain glances between the two of them. Arthur plants balled fists on his hips with a pointed, "A-hem."

"W-Wait! Oh, fuck, I didn't mean to say that— Oh, fuck, I didn't mean to say it again—Err—" Alfred clamps his mouth shut and exhales heavily through his nose.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "I can only imagine just how many people you've either offended or scared to death with that sailor mouth of yours! You have to remember that things are different here!" Spain furrows his brows. Different?

Alfred shoves his hands in his pockets. "I know, I know, you already lectured me on this. The people are different. But hey, did you notice that the stuff was different, too? Like, yo, did you see the sky? What kind of sky is blue? That color is for pussies!"

_From what universe did they come from? The sky has always been blue, why would it be any different?_

"Language!" Arthur snaps, earning a wince from the redhead. "Well, I noticed that the crosswalk lights are different. Green is for go and red is for stop."

"You're joking!" Alfred's eyes widen in awe. Spain and America exchange a wary glance.

"Far from it! I nearly got hit by a car, up until America saved me!"

"Yeah, there's that story again. You really need to be more careful, Arthur." Alfred growls, his eyes slitting as he cast America a malicious glare.

"Well, I wouldn't have found him if it weren't for such. Isn't it odd how similar you two are? I thought he was you when I first saw him!"

"That's apparently what happened to Spain over there." Alfred jabs a thumb over his shoulder. Well the two of them did look similar, you can't blame him for getting mixed up.

"How did you two meet, anyways?" Arthur's tone grew curious.

"Spain and I? The bastard was walking around as if he were blind and bumped into me." Spain scoffs, he did not! He was the one who rammed into him! The Spaniard goes to protest but once again is cut off.

"Uhh, yeah. Question?" America sarcastically raises his hand. The odd pair face him, "What the hell are you two talking about?"

Arthur and Alfred stare at each other silently for a moment, as if in a mental conversation. They return to look at the Nations shaking their heads, "Nothing." They chorus. Well that was a blatant lie. Someone can't just talk about the sky being the wrong color and stoplights being reversed as if it's normal and not expect somebody to think they're insane. Spain felt that there was something completely wrong about those two.

"That was so not convincing." America folds his arms, "Are you dudes, like, high or something? You guys were talking about the sky being the wrong color."

Arthur laughs and waves off the question, "No, no we are not high. Why would be elevated off the ground?" He smiles innocently, not comprehending the question. "I don't believe that's even physically possible."

Once again Spain and America exchange a wary glance.

Alfred places a hand on the Brits shoulder and laughs awkwardly, "Yeah, haha, funny joke Arthur."

Arthur turns to stare questioningly at Alfred, "But I wasn't-"

"Anyways! I think we'll be going now! Thanks for the, uh..."He scans the floor, thinking of a word to describe today, "...experience." Alfred gives a toothy grin and roughly escorts Arthur to the door.

Good. Spain thought. They're leaving, now he can return to his life and act as if today has never happened and he can resume doing what he had planned to do, which was to make a plate of _paella_. The Spaniard smiles and lifts a hand, waving the pair goodbye; though the American beside him had other plans.

"Yo!" He runs in front of them, blocking the exit, and pouts, "You guys can't just _leave_! Not just like that!" America then places a hand on both of their shoulders (earning a growl from Alfred) and drags them further into the hotel room. The Spaniard follows suit after sighing deeply and shutting the door.

Spain walks in on Alfred and Arthur seated on the cream couch and America with his arms crossed, smiling coyly at the pair. What was this _gringo_ doing now?

"What the hell do you want now?" Alfred scowls and leans back on the couch. He places his arms behind his head and props his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, clearly making himself at home though Arthur puts an end to that immediately when he pinches the man's leg.

America laughs, "Since you guys look like me and Iggs,"

"Iggs and I."

America didn't hear the correction Arthur gave and continues talking, "you should stay and meet him!"

Alfred opens his mouth to respond with a snide comment but Arthur slaps his arm and smiles, "Let us think about it!"

America gives a curt nod, leaving the two to discuss amongst themselves, and jogs over to where Spain is currently drinking water in the kitchen. He glances at the refrigerator and pulls it open, helping himself to waterfall from the pitcher of water found there. He lugs the pitcher with him as he joins the Spanish man's side.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Spain fixes America in a wary stare.

"Of course it is! I won't spill, I'm a pro at this!" America grins, sloshing the water, causing water to drip onto the floor.

"Not that," Spain hisses, "About them."

"Oh, them? Well, they're nothing more than our counterparts or something—it's cool! I mean, even if that Alfred guy's kind of a dick, I totally want to show Arthur to Iggy!"

America leans against the counter and takes another waterfall.

The corner of Spain's mouth tugs to the right in contempt. Who knows, maybe this will be fun? The pair of nations soon exit the kitchen and walk back to stand in front of the 'counterparts'.

"So," Spain starts, "what did you decide?"

Alfred cast Arthur a look, a look that signifies that they were hiding something, and smiles.

"Hell. Why not?"


End file.
